


All Wrapped Up in Red Satin

by NuclearNik, PotionChemist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blindfolds, Christmas Eve, Christmas Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Ribbons, Secret Relationship, Sensation Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27983556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearNik/pseuds/NuclearNik, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist
Summary: In a cabin tucked far away from the ongoing war, Draco enjoys playing with his favourite gift.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 26
Kudos: 361
Collections: Deck The Halls with Dramione





	All Wrapped Up in Red Satin

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays, everyone!
> 
> Thank you to LadyKenz347 for inviting me to join this lovely little fest, to my alpha/beta team for tolerating four versions being thrown your way! Love you all to pieces!
> 
> And the biggest thank you to NuclearNik for my prompt image! Check her out on [Instagram](https://Instagram.com/nikcole.art)!

****

**24th December 2000**

As I step into the safe house, I can feel a tingle of someone else’s magic against my skin. Luckily for me, it’s familiar at this point. Comforting, even. And, if she’s put up wards, I know that I will be sleeping very little tonight.

The very thought makes my heart beat erratically.

Closing the door behind me, I look around the bottom floor of my haven, the one place in this godforsaken war that is totally mine. It’s different than usual. Somehow, in the midst of all the chaos, she found time to decorate.

Slowly, I shrug off my cloak, I start cataloguing the changes, my eyes taking every little bit of the house in.

Evergreen garland runs along the mantle with a shiny red bow in the center of it, fairy lights and never-melting snow decorating the branches. Silver candlestick holders sit at the corners, red candles lit atop them. 

Red and green blankets — one for her, one for me — are draped over the back of the worn sofa and a platter of Christmas biscuits sits on the coffee table, cocoa steaming in mugs beside it. She’s put everything under stasis, keeping it perfect until we’re ready to celebrate and indulge.

There’s even a fucking Christmas tree, and I haven’t had one of those since my fifth year. I walk over to it, running my fingers along one of the branches and inhaling deeply, taking in the scent of pine and a hint of cinnamon. There are red and gold baubles, little ornaments in the shapes of hearts and gingerbread men and snowflakes that look homemade, and at the forefront, a photo of us in a silver frame.

The only photo of us together.

My fingers move to the cuffs of my black shirt and I undo the buttons one at a time. While I roll my sleeves up to my elbows, the image loops three times, and I can’t tear my eyes away from it. We’re in bed, her curls splayed over the pillow, and we both smile. And then I move, my lips landing on her cheek as my hand cups the other one possessively.

I hope that I can recreate this same scene in the morning.

She hasn’t appeared yet, and that’s a bit unusual; normally, as soon as I pass through the wards, she’s at my side. But it’s clear that she’s decorated as a surprise for me and likely wants me to take it all in before I find her.

Checking every room on the lower level, I notice other little touches that hadn’t been there before. New books on the shelves in the long-forgotten study, new dishes in the kitchen, a framed portrait on the wall.

“Who are you?” I ask, looking at the man in the frame.

He turns up his nose. “Why don’t you ask your little Mud—Muggleborn girlfriend? She’s the one who’s put me here.”

As I glare at him and walk away, he mumbles, “Spoiling his perfect Black lineage. What a waste.”

And I want to blast his frame off the wall. I hear about how I’m a disappointment over and over again at the Manor — I certainly don’t need it here.

Grumbling, I make my way up the stairs and into the bedroom we usually occupy. That room is, by far, the most changed. The lights are dimmed low, but as I look around, I can see her influence everywhere. She’s kept certain things that she likely thought were important to me.

The walls are still dark green and the furniture is still the odd combination of antiques I’ve collected from the Manor and other Malfoy properties. The photograph of my parents from before life went to shit still sits atop my dresser, my mother smiling and laughing at something my father said as he watches her adoringly.

But there are new things, too. 

Her things.

A golden mirror with an intricate shape hangs on the wall beside the window. A vase of deep red roses sits on the nightstand, adding a small amount of their perfume to the room. There are more fairy lights wrapped around the top of the four-poster, and I know she’s done that for me — I can’t stand being in the dark, and they give just enough light to take the edge off. There is also a photograph on the second dresser — one of her sitting between Potter and Weasley, the three of them laughing — and it shows how shared the space really is.

I’m sure I’d find some of her clothes if I opened the drawers, but I refrain, my eyes too busy carefully taking everything else in.

The bed is made up with white sheets and a heavy red duvet.

I’d never seen a red duvet anywhere in a Malfoy or Black property in my life.

“Do you like it?” she asks, startling me. 

I turn around and see her in the armchair in the corner of the room, kneeling with her feet tucked under her arse.

Her eyes are big and brown and so warm. I could happily get lost in them for hours. Or days. Possibly even months or years. And she’s wearing nothing but red lingerie — a strapless thing that I hardly know how to describe covering her tits and a minuscule pair of knickers — and matching lipstick.

She makes me feel in ways that I never thought possible, and all I want for Christmas is an end to this war, to what keeps us apart the majority of the time. 

“I love it, Granger.”

As a smile spreads across her face, I move towards her, my lips desperate to capture hers, my lungs needing to share her air. 

Before I kiss her, though, I look down and take her in. Her dark curls are held back with some kind of spell, cascading more than halfway down her back. Her skin is bronzed, darker than mine even in the dead of winter, like she’s been sunning herself somewhere warm.

My hand moves to the side of her face, cupping her jaw, and my thumb strokes over her cheekbone. Her eyes flutter shut and I lean forward, my lips barely brushing hers in a gentle kiss, promising that there’s more to come.

But I don’t rush.

We have all night — we both made sure of it — and I want to savour her.

Her fingers tease over the bulge in my trousers, signalling to me that she came ready to play, as if the lingerie didn’t already give that away, and I pull back.

“Happy Christmas, Draco,” she whispers,  glancing up at me through her lashes and pressing something silky into the palm of my hand. 

Looking down, I find a few lengths of red satin ribbon, and my mind spirals out of control. Her chest starts heaving, her breathing accelerating as she waits for my reaction.

I’d asked for this a few months ago — for her to cede all control to me for just one night — and she’d said she wasn’t ready.

If these ribbons are for what I think they’re for, we’re finally on the same page.

Pulling her from the chair, I move towards the window, taking her with me and letting the moonlight wash over her. She  stares up at me, her dark eyes showing a bit of nervousness. I brush my fingers over her curls, smoothing them down, and she leans into my touch.

“What are you okay with?” I ask her gently, my words caressing the shell of her ear.

Her tongue darts out, wetting her red lips, and I feel my cock twitch.

“You can blindfold me,” she says, examining my forearms and hands before looking back into my eyes. “But, if I say red—”

“It comes off immediately,” I reply. 

She’s put multiple lengths of ribbon into my hands and I hold the others up questioningly.

With a shrug that’s way too casual, she says, “I’m sure you can find a way to use those.”

“But we should talk about it first.”

Granger shakes her head. “No. I just — I need you.”

Her voice trembles, and I know that something’s happened. She’s running away, looking for anything to distract her from her own thoughts, and I know I can do that. I can temporarily slow her mind, take her pain away.

“Okay,” I say, my breath leaving me in a rush. “Turn around and face the wall.”

She immediately complies.

In the strange-shaped mirror, I can see her face. Her lips are parted and her eyes are squeezed shut, creasing her brow. I toss the spare lengths of ribbon to the bed, keeping only one in my hands. After a moment, I loop it around her eyes, covering them and watching her face relax. I tie the tails into a bow and let them fall against her hair.

It makes her look like a present, all wrapped up in red satin for me and me alone.

Taking a moment to admire her, my hands move to her hips, gently grazing the skin that’s not covered by the stringy sides of her knickers. I let my fingertips dance along her waistband, my hands meeting beneath her navel, and then back again, climbing towards the bottom of her sexy little bra.

Her cheeks start to redden and her breaths come quicker.

The anticipation is killing her more than it’s killing me.

I wrap my arms around her fully, pulling her against my growing erection, and she presses her arse back.

“None of that,” I whisper against her neck, my tongue darting out to taste her skin. “We’re going slow, Granger.”

She lets out the smallest of whimpers and I move to touch her breasts. Over the red satin, I palm her, groping and squeezing, finding her nipple and pinching it lightly, teasing her. She arches, filling my hand, begging me for more without saying a word. I move to the opposite side, kissing her neck while I take my time with her body. 

My unoccupied fingers trail up her spine, finding their way to the hook-and-eye closure of the bra and deftly opening it.

I move my hands away, letting it fall to the floor, and examine her in the mirror. Her nipples are hard and her chest is rising and falling more heavily than usual. Experimentally, I pinch and lightly tug on one nipple, and she moans.

“You like that?” I ask, even though it’s clear she does, repeating the movement on the other side.

“Draco,” she whines, her need audible.

Even though I hardly need to, I slide one hand down to her knickers, checking to see if she’s getting wet for me. As my fingertip dips into her slit, I feel her arousal, warm and slick.

And then I withdraw my hand and turn her so she’s facing me, my left hand venturing up between her breasts, landing on her jaw. My thumb is on one cheek, my fingers splaying over the other, her chin resting in my palm.

As I examine her reaction, my eyes catch on my own forearm, on the inky black snake and skull that’s been there for the past four and a half years. It reminds me of how wrong this is — the Muggleborn princess of the light side coming apart in the hands of a Death Eater — but I push the thoughts down to the best of my ability.

However, I can’t stop myself from asking the question that escapes my lips. 

“Do you trust me, Granger?”

Her breath hitches, and I’m not sure if it’s from arousal or nerves.

“Of course I do,” she replies, her tongue darting out again.

“Are you sure?” 

Her small hands land on my forearm and cover my Dark Mark, blocking it from view. I feel her thumbs stroking over the blackened skin, and it calms me.

Granger isn’t afraid of darkness — knows this doesn’t define me — and a simple touch reminds me of that.

“I’m sure.”

Swallowing hard, I release her face and lift her, carrying her to the bed. When I set her down, she nestles into the pillows, and I wonder if she’s sprayed mine with a mist of her perfume, the way she always does when she changes the sheets.

I look down at her, red blindfold over her eyes, red duvet beneath her. The other lengths of ribbon sit atop one of the white pillows.

After a few seconds of thought, I toe off my shoes and remove the blue socks I’d had no choice but to wear this morning — there had been no time to collect my washing, and I no longer had elves to cater to my every need.

Left in my trousers and my shirt, I climb onto the bed and straddle her hips, sitting back on her thighs and keeping her in place. Her hands move to my legs and stroke along the inner seams of my trouser legs and up towards my cock.

I grab her wrists, shifting until I’m holding both of them in one of my hands.

“No touching,” I command, making her squirm. “Do you think you can keep your hands to yourself?”

She shakes her head.

“No?”

Again, her head moves side to side, shifting the blindfold and giving me a glimpse of her mischievous expression.

And I realise she’s had a plan for the other ribbons all along.

“Well, I have an easy solution for that,” I answer, acting like it had been my own idea. I reach for another length of red satin and wind it around her wrists in a figure eight, tie it off, and make sure it’s not too tight. “Is this okay?”

“Slytherin green,” she teases from beneath me, and I attach the free ends of the ribbon to an intricately carved spindle in the headboard.

She’s at my mercy, and I can’t even begin to decide what to do first.

While I think, I lightly graze my fingers along her skin, travelling from her wrists down to her chest, moving back up to her neck. They dance over her throat and across her collarbones, and I can feel her pulse hammering. I trace the curves of her breasts, lightly teasing her nipples with the gentlest of touches. And then the pads of my fingertips swoop down towards her navel, dipping below but not reaching her knickers, and then back up between her breasts once more.

Granger is panting, leaning into my touch whenever she can, and I am in awe of her.

Knowing her sense of touch is likely heightened, I start to think of what else I can use to tease her. My eyes roam the room, taking in every little detail again, and I summon one of the roses from the nightstand. I run my fingers over the petals and smile to myself.

I lower the flower, rolling the stem between my fingers and letting the petals graze the curve of her right breast, the hardened peak of her nipple, over her sternum and the valley between.

“Oh,” she breathes as I drag it along the left, teasing her the same way. “What is that?”

Moving it up along her neck, I watch as she concentrates, trying to figure out what it is. I run it over her parted lips, right under her nose, and she inhales.

“One of the roses,” she states. “Oh, that feels so good.”

Slowly, I make the petals dance against her skin, retracing their path down her neck over her breasts, and then lower. When they caress her too-flat stomach, she lets out a sound that’s between a giggle and a sigh, and it goes straight to my heart.

I want to hear the sounds of her happiness over and over again, looping like the photo on the Christmas tree.

As the rose sweeps along the edge of her knickers, she inhales sharply and her hips try to buck off the bed. But I’m sitting on her, weighing her down, denying her urges. I’m making her wait, and I know when the time comes, she’ll explode for me.

After a few more minutes of teasing, I set the rose aside and lean down, kissing her softly.

My hands rub her shoulders, her arms, making sure she’s not straining before they start stroking her body again, caressing her the way the rose’s petals had.

And my lips follow in their wake, my tongue darting out every so often to taste her.

“Please,” she says when my mouth lands on the gentle swell of her breast, kissing its way to her nipple.

When my lips wrap around the hardened bud, she cries out, and I feel her thighs squeezing together, her hips trying to move beneath me once more.

Thinking quickly about what else would give her a different sensation, I wordlessly conjure a piece of ice and hold it in my hand, letting it melt and become slippery. As I pull my mouth away, I press the ice against her nipple and she jerks violently, the temperature change surprising her.

“Fuck!” she yells as gooseflesh erupts. 

“Mmmm, not yet, darling,” I taunt, my tongue circling her other nipple.

I repeat the process, sucking her hard and then cooling her sensitive, heated flesh with the ice. She breathes heavily, and I snake one hand up her body, my thumb brushing over her lips. With no instruction, her lips part and her tongue strokes over the tip, tasting me and making me long to feel her do the same to my cock.

I trade my thumb for my index finger, letting her suck while I do the same to her nipples. When I feel my cock start twitching in my trousers, I take it away, not wanting to lose control.

Dragging the melting ice lower, I lap up the trail of water and she squirms under my tongue. I shuffle down her body so I’m kneeling between her thighs, leaving the ice melting in her bellybutton. Spreading her legs wider, my hands on her knees, my eyes fixate on her ruined knickers — absolutely soaked through with her desire.

By now, I’m sure her cunt is swollen and throbbing.

“Oh, Granger, it seems like you might want something,” I say, my fingers grazing the sodden gusset, feeling the heat radiating from her.

“You,” she replies, canting her hips up, seeking more friction from my fingers.

I pull them away, leaving her desperate for my touch.

“I’m still fully clothed,” I tell her, knowing how active her imagination can be when prompted. “I think I’ll at least take my shirt off.”

She nods and her teeth sink into her lower lip at the thought of me undressing.

Running my hands along her inner thighs, I let my thumbs  lightly touch her centre and she shudders.

When my hands leave her body, she whines, and I lean forward to silence her with a kiss. 

As I pull back, my eyes open to examine her face. She’s flushed and her lips are still parted. Her nipples are dark — darker than I’ve ever seen them — and there is water spilling down the sides of her stomach, soaking into the duvet beneath her. My shirt is wet too.

Definitely time to remove it.

“Okay, Granger, I’m unbuttoning my shirt now.” I watch her reaction, the way her face scrunches up the tiniest bit. She’s squeezing her eyes shut, imagining each inch of my torso being slowly revealed. “Do you want me to take it all the way off? Or just leave it open?”

She inhales shakily. 

“Off,” she pants. “Gods, take it off.”

And so I do.

I toss it over her face and she breathes deeply.

Her voice is husky, full of desire. “It smells like you. So good.”

“Do you want me to leave it there?”

“Up to you,” she replies, giving me more of the control I’ve been craving. 

When she inhales even deeper than she had the first time, I feel myself growing harder. I’ve never realised that she loves my scent as much as I love hers.

I need to take a step back. Regroup. I want nothing more than to free her, to look into her eyes as I sink into her body. 

But if this is the only time she lets me have my way with her, I want to make the most of it.

My hands move to my belt and I undo it. The sound makes her say, “Oh, yes.”

“What was that?” I ask, teasing.

“You’re getting undressed. I’m — I’m imagining you.”

“I like that,” I admit, giving her some insight to my mindset, as well. “I like knowing you’re thinking about me.”

“Every day,” she pants. “I think about you — naked and clothed — every single day. Only you.”

My throat thickens, unsaid words choking me. I’ve never had her bravery, and that isn’t going to change now. I can’t tell her that it’s the same for me, that it’s only been her starring in my fantasies for years.

“I’m unbuttoning my trousers.” My breaths are coming quicker than they had been before, the sounds of my lungs filling the silence. “I’m so fucking hard for you, Hermione.”

Her name passes my lips like I’ve used it a million times before.

“And I’m so fucking wet for you.” 

She doesn’t turn my first utterance of her name into a big deal, even though we both know it is. 

I move off the bed, letting my trousers fall to the floor. My cock is straining against my pants, begging me to slip inside of her.

But I can’t. Not yet.

To resist the temptation, I leave the pants on and make my way between her thighs once more. 

Unsure of what to do next, I close my eyes and try to recall anything she’s ever mentioned wanting to experiment with. Nothing stands out.

“Draco,” she says, her voice full of need. “Please touch me.”

Lowering my lips to her knee, I place a kiss to the inside of it, and then start working my way up. I nibble and lick and suck and bite, making her squirm again.

Our trysts are generally rushed, so this prolonged foreplay is new in and of itself.

When I reach the apex of her thighs, I run my tongue over the ruined red satin and she sobs. I can taste her, and I want more. 

I  _ need  _ more.

“Have you been a good girl this year?” I ask, teasing her with the Father Christmas reference.

She plays along. “Oh, yes. So good.”

I lick along the edge of her knickers, where her leg meets her pelvis.

“Are you sure?”

“I am.” Her voice is strained, nearly moaning, but I can hear the smile in it as she adds, “I’ve not been spanked once.”

Immediately, a laugh escapes me, though it’s muffled against her skin, and she laughs, too.

“That just means you haven’t been caught.”

She chuckles again, and it’s the sweetest sound.

Without warning, I tug hard on the strings that make up the sides of her knickers, tearing them from the fabric that covers her. With one additional movement, I pull the knickers away and toss them to the floor, finding her clean shaven and glistening for me.

I don’t hesitate or tease.

As soon as my tongue hits her clit, she shrieks and the sound spurs me on. I use my teeth, my lips, my tongue. I hold her wide open, my hands on her thighs, and she’s bucking against my face in no time at all.

“Draco,” she screams, her voice shaking. “Oh, that’s so good. Just like that!”

My lips wrap around her clit, humming in response, and her back bows, her feet planting against the mattress.

Letting go of her left thigh, my hand moves down to her cunt, and two of my fingers slip inside of her easily. She’s wetter than I’ve ever felt before, her body aroused beyond reason. I rub my tongue against her clit, crook my fingers inside of her, and make her see stars, scream my name, shake and sob.

And her release is sweet — I want to taste it over and over again.

“Too fast, Granger.” My fingers slide in and out of her slowly, fucking her through her climax. “I want to savour this, not rush it.”

“I’ve been desperate for you for hours,” she replies breathily, starting to come down from her peak. “I couldn’t hold out anymore.”

Her words make my cock twitch. The thought of her decorating the house to distract herself, to calm her libido, drives me crazy.

I know I should probably make her come once more with my mouth — really give her a night to remember — but I feel like I’m the one who can’t wait now. I’m in danger of coming in my pants like a fucking fourth year who just saw his first pair of tits.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “Do you want me to untie you before I fuck you, Granger?”

“No,” she replies, surprising me. “But can I make a request?”

“Anything.”

“Turn me over.”

She knows I love that position, watching her arse slam into my hips. This isn’t for her — not really. It’s all for me, but I don’t fight her on it.

Grabbing her hips, I help her get into position, moving her forward so she can hold onto the headboard with her bound hands. My eyes roam over her hungrily, starting with the red ribbons looped around her wrists and eyes, moving to her tits, the curve of her spine, her dripping centre.

And her arse. 

I can’t help myself. I kneel between her legs and run my hands along her body, touching her just as lightly and sensually as I had before. Squeezing my eyes shut, I start to visualise exactly what I want, and my hands land on her arse cheeks, my fingers sinking in, kneading them. 

But I make myself wait again. 

Even though I’m raring to go, my hands run along her sides, venture down to her breasts, pinch and roll her nipples. Her shoulders sink down as she mewls, and I’m bent over her, my cock pressing against her arse. 

“Do you like that, Hermione?” I ask, even though it’s clear she’s enjoying every second of it.

She arches more, pressing herself backwards and forcing me to feel her wet heat. Her hands are up, her elbows braced on the mattress with her head between them. When I squeeze harder, she somehow pushes her breasts even further into my hands and rocks her hips against me.

Shifting, I manage to position my cock where it needs to be, the head notching against her entrance.

She’s nearly dripping with desire.

“Please,” Hermione begs, and I slide forward, giving her what she wants. 

If I could, I’d promise to spend my whole life giving her what she wants.

Being inside of her tonight, even without looking into her eyes, is nearly a religious experience. The first stroke is like a homecoming, the second a warm embrace. And the sounds she’s making are heavenly — a chorus of sighs and moans interspersed with my name and filthy words.

My hands trail up along her ribs and grab her waist, giving me a bit more control. I guide her, setting a steady rhythm, my hips meeting her arse. I can see my cock disappearing inside of her and hear how wet she is.

As much as I want to speed up, I keep a steady rhythm, savouring the feel of her heat wrapped tightly around me.

Her curls — her long, dark, maddening curls — are spreading across her shoulders, jostling with every single thrust and taking the tails of the blindfold with them. One of my hands moves from her waist of its own accord, gathering the mass of hair and ends of the ribbon back together, giving it a gentle tug.

Granger groans and  her spine bows further; as soon as I snap my hips against hers, she cries out. She’s managed to angle herself perfectly and I take full advantage, my pace quickening marginally. I feel her starting to squeeze me, her cunt tightening and fluttering almost rhythmically.

When she sobs, I almost worry, but then her thighs quake and she nearly collapses. My arm wraps around her waist, holding her up, and I slow my thrusts.

“Granger? Are you okay?”

“Oh, gods, yes,” she replies, her muscles still trembling. “Never better.”

I smirk to myself and give her a light spank on her arse.

“Good, because I’m not done with you yet.”

Hermione laughs. “I’d be disappointed if you were.”

Murmuring a spell, I release her hands from the headboard and pull her back, settling onto my haunches with her on my lap. I leave the blindfold on, simply because she looks adorable with a bow on the back of her head. One of my hands snakes down to her clit and the other lands on her breast.

She flexes her thighs, riding me, sliding along my length. And her skin feels amazing against mine — tingling, electrifying, making me wish we could stay like this forever.

Honestly, I never would have believed that she could be like this — so free and sexy and sensual — but I thanked the gods every single fucking day for letting me be the one to discover this side of her.

She knows how to move in ways that maximise pleasure — both hers and my own — and I don’t know if it’s instinctive or if she’s read up on the subject.

Either way, I’m the luckiest bloke on the planet.

My fingers move in time with her body, working her swollen bundle of nerves, spreading her own wetness up and over it. She speeds up and quiet moans start escaping her lips.

She’s getting close again. So fucking close.

I drive up into her harder, my cock straining for release, and my hand switches from groping her breast to plucking at her nipple. Her head tilts back, resting on my shoulder, and I turn my head, pressing my lips against her hair.

Because I’m so focused on her, on making her come again, I miss the first twinge of pain in my forearm, or I mistake it for friction, the heat caused by my skin moving against hers.

But then it intensifies and I abruptly stop moving, realising what’s going on.

“Hermione, I’m sorry. I-I have to go,” I say, my hands moving quickly to untie the blindfold and her wrists. 

As the ribbons flutter to the bed, she stills and I wait for the anger, but it doesn’t come. Sliding off of me, she turns around, meeting my eyes. Her hands settle on my forearm.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

I start to panic, my heart rate increasing. I don’t want to upset her, but I don’t have a fucking choice. “You know I have to.”

Granger shakes her head. “No, you don’t.”

“I don’t have time for this,” I tell her, pulling away and moving towards the edge of the mattress. I swing my legs over and stand, getting ready to summon my clothes.

Moving quickly, she jumps off the bed and grabs me again. “Wait. Please listen.”

Even though I’m terrified of being the last to show at the Dark Lord’s side, I pause, looking down into her eyes.

She’s the only one who could ever make me pause. 

“The Order is currently attacking the Manor,” she states cautiously. “I didn’t say anything because I knew your parents weren’t there and that you would be here with me.”

A feeling of nervousness washes over me, and I don’t speak. I just wait for her to continue.

“And I’ve revealed you as my informant to Kingsley. He told me it would be best if I kept you away from the battle,” she explains, her thumb stroking over the Dark Mark. “This should be the end of him, Draco. We destroyed the final Horcrux a week ago.”

“Why aren’t you at the Manor, then?” I ask her, not understanding why she chose to be here instead of battling alongside her friends. 

“Because I didn’t want you there,” she says, like it’s something that should be universally understood. “I wanted you to be safe. Not everyone in the Order will know which side you’re on, and if Death Eaters saw us ignoring you—”

“—they’d know I was involved with the Order,” I finish for her.

She nods. “Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Kingsley know. And they know I’ve been with you when I’m not around. They were angry at first, but—”

“Granger, I don’t care if they’re angry,” I interrupt, pulling her into my arms. “I’m just — I can’t believe you told them. I didn’t think you would.”

Reaching up, she forces me to tilt my head and look down at her. “Why wouldn’t I? We’re together — aren’t we?”

I can hear doubt creeping into her voice, and it makes me feel like an arse.

“I just never really anticipated a life beyond the war,” I admit, hugging her tighter and tucking her head against my shoulder. “Of course we’re together. It’s only been you for me since the very first time I kissed you.”

“That’s what I told the others. That you’re it for me.” 

Her lips are near my ear, and with every word spoken, I feel her warmth — both literally and metaphorically. 

“When they asked me how this all started, I told them about Godric’s Hollow and how I thought you’d captured me,” she explains, continuing what she’d likely tried to say earlier. “And I guess you did — in a way.”

Smiling, I press my lips to her temple. “I did. I couldn’t believe my luck when you turned up there alone. I thought the whole Order would’ve come when I sent that first bit of information.”

“I was the one who got your owl,” she confesses in a whisper. “I didn’t tell anyone then. I just wanted to know who was reaching out. If it had been almost anyone else, you wouldn’t have seen me at all.”

“Why’d you show yourself?” I ask, unable to resist.

Again, Granger — Hermione — pulls back and makes me look her in the eyes. 

“Because I had a feeling there was more to you than anyone ever realised,” she states. “You were always the loudest, always acting the way that people expected a Malfoy to act. If you were really that person, I don’t think you would’ve tried so hard.”

So she’d seen right through me from the very beginning. I’m not surprised in the least, honestly, but I’m a little embarrassed that I’d been so transparent.

My lips capture hers, and I remember the first time we ever kissed, right here in this very house. We’d both moved forwards at the same time, perfectly in sync before we even really knew each other.

When we break apart, she says, “I love you.”

My heart nearly stops when those words pass her lips, not really willing to believe that all of my bad choices brought me here, to this very moment. 

“You love me?” 

“Are you thick?” she asks, incredulous. “Why else would I make sure that both you and your parents are out of harm’s way before letting the Order attack the Manor? You told us how to dismantle the wards weeks ago.”

“I thought you had to destroy more Horcruxes—”

She kisses me again, her tongue stroking over mine, and I’m suddenly very aware that we’ve been naked for this entire conversation. My hands drift down to grip her arse.

“You’re an idiot,” Granger says, completely breathless. “I wanted to make sure your family wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire.”

My lips run along the column of her throat, trace her collarbone, memorise the curve of her shoulder. 

“Draco, wait. If they’re attacking now, we might not have long. I told Harry where to find me if he truly needed anything. I hope you don’t mind that I gave him the location—”

“When they win the battle, are they going to come straight here?” 

“I asked them to send word, but it’ll likely be a Patronus or an owl.”

Even though it’s probably a little wrong, I’m disappointed that Potter and Weasley likely won’t walk in on us — won’t hear her moans or see the way she comes undone for me.

I know she can feel my cock coming back to life between us, and I felt her pulse hammering under her skin.

“Let’s start celebrating now,” I murmur when my lips land on her ear, and she shivers. “We can make this a tradition. No silent nights on Christmas Eve. In fact, I think I should make you scream louder than ever.”

“I believe I already got mine. More than once,” she answers, her fingers dancing along the ridges of my abdominal muscles.

A second later, they wrap around my cock, gripping tightly.

“Fuck.”

She laughs and kisses my neck, my collarbone, my pecs. Her tongue darts out, teasing my skin the way I’d done to her, and she keeps drifting lower and lower.

As she drops to her knees, my fingers tangle in her curls again, twisting and pulling lightly, making her look up at me.

“You know you don’t need to do this,” I tell her, and she smirks, one hand stroking me from base to tip.

“And you know I  _ love _ doing this.”

And then her tongue strokes over the head of my cock.

Before I know it, she’s devouring every inch of me she can manage, looking up at me the whole time. Her eyes stay open as her mouth slides along my shaft, and my hips instinctively start moving in time with her.

I know I should stop her — should take her back to bed and worship her slowly — but this feels so fucking good.

Too good.

And when I see her hand move between her own thighs and hear the sound of her fingers sliding into her wet cunt, I groan. She does love this, and she knows that she has all the power in the world over me, even though she’s the one on her knees.

Her big brown eyes are still focused on me, though her lids are fluttering more now that she’s likely close to climax, and I’m lost to her.

The nails of her free hand dig into my hip and I stop moving, letting her take over completely. Once again, she’s moving perfectly, pleasuring herself and me simultaneously.

My cock starts to swell, to twitch in her mouth, and my grip on her hair tightens. There’s no need to warn her — she knows I’m about to come.

Her hand moves from her centre to my other hip, and I can feel her slickness on her fingers as they dig into my skin. Cheeks hollowing, she sucks harder and moves faster, determined to make me combust.

As the first grunt of pleasure escapes my lips, she sucks and swallows, taking everything I have to give and leaving me breathless.

When I’m spent, she pulls back, settling on her haunches and breathing heavily. I know she didn’t come and is likely more wound up than she was before our evening even started.

My hands land on her shoulders, grabbing her and helping her get to her feet. Without a second thought, I kiss her, my tongue delving deeply into her mouth and she presses her body against mine.

Her nipples are hard and my flagging erection rubs against her wet slit.

“So, do you need more attention?” I ask, teasing her. “You feel a little bit—”

She moves onto her tiptoes to kiss me again. “Shut up, Malfoy.”

“Oh, Granger, I can think of a few ways—”

And then her lips meet mine. Grabbing her arse, I lift her, and she wraps her legs around my waist.

I start to walk towards the bedroom door, levitating the red duvet behind us. “I know you’re horny and likely want me to fuck you right here,” I begin, coming up for air. “But I think it would be more romantic if I made love to you between the fireplace and the Christmas tree, rather than where I just had you tied to my headboard.”

Laughing, she asks, “We’re going to make love?”

“Yeah.” I squeeze her arse with both my hands. “I love you too, Granger. I think it’s time we slowed things down. We’ve got all the time in the world now.”


End file.
